Gift of the Rabbit God
by Frost Deejn
Summary: After a mission goes awry, Sam and Bucky are forced to survive in the wilderness together. Surrounded by danger, they find their tense partnership develop into an unlikely friendship, and maybe more.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Marvel.

The Gift of the Rabbit God

Chapter 1

Bucky had never seen T'Challa so agitated. He hid it well, maintaining a stoic poise. Someone who knew him less well might have missed it.

"Thanks for coming," he said across the table to Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. "I know the Avengers are busy these days."

"The robot attacks are keeping everyone on their toes," Steve said, "but after everything you and your country have done for us, if there's anything we can do to repay you, we will. Besides, I knew you wouldn't call us if it weren't important."

"It is. As you know, whoever is behind the robot attacks has been kidnapping some of the world's top scientists. Roboticists, computer developers, genetic engineers."

"Yeah. We've been able to stop some of the kidnapping attempts, but we haven't been able to track down where they're being taken," Sam mentioned.

"Yesterday, my sister Shuri disappeared after attending a conference in Prague. Spiderbots were seen in the city the same night. I believe she is the latest victim."

Steve was struck silent for a moment, suddenly understanding the urgent tone of T'Challa's request. "I'm so sorry. How can we help?"

T'Challa brought up a hologram of satellite images. "A few hours after her disappearance, spy satellites caught something flying over a mountainous area in western China." He enlarged the image. It looked something like a helicopter, though it was clearly not a conventional aircraft. He swiped through a few images, showing the craft moving swiftly above the landscape. Then it was gone. "Switch to terrain view." Contour lines appeared over the satellite images. He went through the images again. This time it became apparent the craft was slowing, lowering, and navigating around mountains. It was aiming straight at the mountainside when it disappeared.

"It went into the mountain," Sam concluded.

"That's our conclusion. There's no way of knowing whether that's where they're holding my sister and the other scientists, other than going there and seeing for ourselves."

"I'm in," Steve said.

"Me too," said Sam.

T'Challa stood. "We leave now."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Wakandan jet flew over the mountains of the Tian Shan range, over snow-covered crags shining silver in the light of a nearly full moon. Sam watched out the windows, T'Challa was in the pilot seat, Bucky kept readjusting his bionic arm.

"You sure you up for this?" Steve asked him quietly.

"I'm sure I'm going to do anything I can to save Shuri." He glanced at T'Challa. "I owe her and Wakanda everything. I'm up for this."

"We're getting close," T'Challa announced.

They slowed and circled around the mountain where the mystery aircraft disappeared. There were no obvious entrances, no anomalous readings.

"We can't risk shooting at the mountain," T'Challa said. "We get out and find an entrance on foot."

They landed the cloaked jet behind a nearby ridge. The Black Panther led the way through the deep snow.

"We split up," he instructed them. "Keep in communication. If you find an entrance, wait for the rest of us."

The attack came even earlier than they expected. Four spiderbots, bigger than any they'd seen before, rose up from beneath the snow. Too big to fly, they towered above their foes on long, spindly metal legs.

T'Challa rushed at the nearest spiderbot. Bullets bounced harmlessly off the vibranium Black Panther suit.

Steve threw his shield. It lodged in the midsection of one of the bots, then took a chunk of metal out of it when he summoned it back.

Sam flew above the fray, laying down cover fire.

" _We've got two more coming, from the southeast and northwest. I see a light on the hillside to the northwest; I think it's an entrance to an undergound structure._ " He did a spin to dodge incoming ordinance, then opened fire on the pursuing spiderbot.

Bucky shot at the underside of another one. He heard bullets bouncing off metal. He needed a clearer view to determine the best place to aim. He threw a flare and by its light aimed for the shifting joints where the legs attached to the body. One of the bullets damaged something crucial, and one leg froze up. The bot began tipping over, damaged but still a threat.

He leaped toward it, followed by a hail of fire, and punched his vibranium arm throough its shell, peeling off a strip of metal.

He caught sight of T'Challa and Steve teaming up against one of the giant spiderbots while Sam distracted another.

Bucky tore a wire out of the one he was fighting, then tossed a miniature explosive inside it and leaped away before it exploded. The smoking shell fell to the ground.

Steve and T'Challa had taken out another one. There were still four left. Strategically, they should retreat. Bucky scanned for an escape route. There was a boulder field down the slope. The bots wouldn't be able to follow them through it.

"T'Challa," he said over the comm. "We need to retreat. I'll lay down cover fire, the rest of you get down the mountain."

 _"We're not leaving until we find my sister, and no one's getting left hehind."_

Bucky wasn't surprised by his decision. He didn't waste any more breath arguing about it. He leaped off a boulder on top of one of the bots.

One of its legs twisted up and around, stabbing at him. He dodged it while trying to punch through the bot's shell. He clung to the bot as it swung around, trying to shake him off. As long as it was attacking him, it wasn't attacking the others.

The spiderbot suddenly stopped attacking him, and instead started moving. It climbed up a cliff, leaving Bucky dangling, clutching the hole he'd punched in the bot's shell. The giant spiderbot climbed sideways around a cliff, moving away from the fight. It let go of the rock face with the two arms upslope and began falling upside down. It was going to fall down the cliff. It would destroy the bot, but crush him in the process. Super strength or not, Bucky didn't think that was something he would survive.

Swinging beneath the falling bot, he let go, launching himself at the sheer cliff hoping to find a handhold once he hit it. After a second or two of being airborn hundreds of feet above jagges rocks, he slammed into the cliff and clawed at it with his metal arm, stopping his fall with a jolt.

He looked back. The bot was still falling, but he saw gun turrets emerge from its central node, aiming at him. Time seemed to slow down. He watched bullets explode from the falling bot, on a trajectory to tear through him.

He hoped death would at least be quick.

And then a blur of red and black moved in front of him. The Falcon spun, deflecting the bullets with his wings.

The spiderbot tumbled down the mountainside. And so did Falcon. The bullets had damaged his suit. Bucky grabbed for him with his free hand, but a split second too late. Falcon folded his wings around himself in an attempt to shield himself from the impact. He bounced off rock, was airborn for a few seconds, then plunged into a snowbank, which collapsed with the impact. The Falcon was lost to sight in seconds in an avalanch that roared up the mountainside, swallowing up the echoes of the spiderbot smashing against the rocks further below.

When the avalanch fell still, Bucky watched for a minute, looking for any movement to indicate life beneath the mass of snow and rock. There was nothing.

He climbed up to the top of the ridge. The wreckage of three spiderbots lay scatteted across the mountainside. The other two were gone. So were Steve and T'Challa.

Bucky walked down to examine the battlefield. Steve's shield lay abandoned in the snow. Footprints told the rest of the story: after the bot Bucky was fighting took him out of play, the other three had taken out one more of the bots. That was probably when Falcon went after him, probably on Steve or T'Challa's orders. One of the remaining bots had cannonballed into Steve, crushing him into a snowbank. T'Challa had run after him, but had been intercepted by the other bot. Somehow, they had both been restrained and taken.

Bucky fell to the ground, breathing heavily. He was the only one left to fight, but he didn't know what to do. Steve was his best friend, and T'Challa had become like a brother to him; he wanted to go after them. But Sam Wilson had risked his life to save him. There was a chance he was still alive, but if he was it wouldn't be for long.

He made his decision and got to his feet.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam was surprised he was still conscious when he stopped moving. He took stock of his chances of survival. The wings of the Falcon suit had created an air pocket, so he wasn't likely to suffocate before hypothermia killed him. There was an intense pain in his right hand. It was too dark to see, but he could feel blood dripping down his fingers. He was facing downward and couldn't move enough to elevate the hand, so gravity was pulling blood to the open wound. If it was as bad as it felt, he might die of blood loss before hypothermia.

Ignoring the pain, he moved his hand enough to clutch a handful of snow. The pressure and the cold might at least slow the bleeding.

With his uninjured hand and his feet he tried to push against the weight around him. It only led to snow coming loose and falling into the air pocket.

The cold was beginning to seep into him.

The others would find him as soon as the battle was over, he told himself. Bucky had seen where he fell. He might not like him very much, but he wouldn't leave him to die. Once they defeated the spiderbots, Steve would come find him.

He reminded himself of that fact over and over.

His extremities went numb. He wasn't even sure if he was putting pressure on the gash in his hand anymore. He lost track of time. Had it been minutes or hours that he'd been trapped?

The darkness seemed to glow. It seemed to move. Sam tried to remember the symptoms of hypothermia. Shivering, confusion, mistaking the feeling of cold for heat. Was hallucination one of them? Or was that hypoxia or hypovolemia?

The darkness was starting to look blue. He thought he could make out his shadow.

And then fresh, cold air flooded in around him, along with moonlight. He looked up, seeing someone in silhouette. The figure was shovelling snow using Cap's shield.

"Cap?" Sam asked. His own voice sounded slowed and muffled, like he was hearing it through water.

The man dropped the shield and pulled him out of the hole. He identified Bucky by his metal arm even before he could make out his features in the moonlight. He saw Bucky's lips move, but couldn't make out what he said. He shook his head.

Bucky lay him out on the snow and looked him over, checking for broken bones. He held up his right hand, examining the deep gash across his palm. Sam couldn't see the wound clearly himself, but could tell from the concern on Bucky's face that it was bad.

He didn't know when he lost consciousness, but the next thing he knew the sun was up, and Bucky was dripping warm water between his lips.

He was next to a fire, propped up against a snow bank with an emergency blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hand was wrapped firmly in a bandage. The bowl Bucky held to his lips was the collapsible camping bowl from his own emergency supplies.

He took the cup with his left hand and drank the rest of the warm water. He was still hypothermic. He wasn't shivering. That was a bad sign.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"Five hours."

They were no longer on the bare mountainside. They were surrounded by snow-covered trees, on the sunny side of a narrow valley.

"Where are Cap and T'Challa?" Even as he asked the question, Sam was gripped by the terrible feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"After the avalanch, I went back to help them, and they were gone. It looks like they were captured."

"Captured? And you didn't go after them?"

Bucky looked at him evenly. "If they're alive, it's likely they'll be held for ransom, which means they have time. If they didn't survive, there's nothing I could do for them. On the other hand, there was a chance I could save you in time. It was the only choice."

Logically, he was right, Sam had to admit. But he hated not knowing if Cap was alive or not.

"Thanks," he said.

Bucky frowned at him. "You saved me. You risked your life to save me. Why thank me?"

"Because I can guess how much you wanted to go after Steve instead."

He didn't disagree.

Sam looked at his hand. He felt weak. If he tried to stand, he would probably pass out again.

Bucky looked up. "Don't move."

Moments later, a flying spiderbot passed over the valley. It disappeared over the next hill.

"I don't know if they're looking for me, looking for our jet, or just on a standard patrol," Bucky said. "They come around about once an hour. They haven't spotted us, but it's too risky to go back to the jet in daylight."

"We gotta get some shelter before dark," Sam said.

"We need to keep you warm, and we need food," Bucky replied. He moved a stack of firewood next to him. "Keep the fire going. I'll be back soon."

"Where are you going?"

"Hunting."

* * *

Bucky didn't like leaving Sam, but he knew Sam was in no shape to travel. That's why he hadn't even asked. Sam would probably have claimed to be able to walk, but he hadn't seen the snow dyed red with his blood. He hadn't seen the bones of his hand in the gash across his palm. He might not even realize how dire his situation was.

But maybe he did; he had said they would need shelter before dark. He hadn't sounded panicked or depressed, but maybe he understood he wasn't likely to make it to dawn if they didn't.

The cold wasn't a danger to Bucky. As the Winter Soldier, he'd trained in Siberia in the dead of winter. He'd survived being frozen solid. But Sam didn't have the advantage of supersoldier blood. Hypothermia could easily kill him. He would need a fire to survive the night, but an open fire would give away their location. With or without a fire, his body would need calories to keep up its core temperature.

As Bucky walked over the snow-covered ground, he kept his eyes open for any possible food source: the needled of the spruce trees that dominated this forest were edible, high in fiber and vitamin c, but low in calories. Fallen trees might harbor termites, high in fat and protein.

He saw some rabbit tracks. It was early enough in the winter that a rabbit would probably still have a good reserve of fat. He followed the tracks, which led up the slope toward the open ground of the mountainside. If the tracks led there, he wouldn't follow. At least not for long.

He spotted the rabbit up ahead, perfectly still and blending in to the snow. He slowly lowered down, taking out his handgun. Before he could take aim, the rabbit started moving, hopping through the snow. It didn't seem to think it was in danger, judging by how slowly it was going.

Bucky followed at a distance, stalking it rather than chasing it.

The rabbit came to a clearing and started nibbling on bark from some low bushes. Bucky lowered himself out of sight and crept behind some bushes. When he raised his head again, the rabbit sensed movement and froze, counting on its camouflage to protect it. Moving only his hands, which were below the rabbit's line of sight, he took aim. He would have one shot. Air was still, target small but stationary.

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet took the rabbit in the head, killing it instantly. He listened for a minute, worried that the shot might draw the attention of any spiderbots in the vicinity. But the day was silent.

He walked up to the spasming body of the rabbit.

"I'm sorry," he said to it. "I wouldn't have killed you without a good reason. Someone's life is on the line."

As he reached out for the rabbit, he caught sight of a dark shadow on the nearby hillside. He looked again.

It was a cave.

Shelter.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sam felt awkward letting Bucky carry him cradled in his arms through the snowy woods, but it allowed him to hold his hand still, keeping the pain down to a dull ache, and with Bucky's super strength it didn't seem to bother him.

Bucky had built a fire in the cave before going back for Sam, so it was already warm when they entered. He'd arranged rocks into a circle for a firepit, and had found a large, flat piece of slate to perch over the fire as a makeshift hotplate. He went to work butchering the rabbit, laying strips of meat on the hot slate to roast.

"You really know how to make a cave feel like home," Sam said.

"I've slept in my share of them."

"Sorry."

Bucky looked at him curiously. "Why are you sorry?"

"I'm sorry your life was one that made sleeping in caves the kind of thing you'd get used to."

He didn't reply to that. He picked up several small rocks from around the cave and set them in the fire, then he took Sam's bowl outside, scooped up snowballs, and squeezed them in his metal hand until they melted and dripped into the bowl. Back in the cave, he picked the hot rocks out of the fire and dipped them in the water in the bowl, sending up a hiss of steam with each one, until the water was hot.

"Drink this," he said, putting the bowl to Sam's lips. "We need to get your core temperature up."

"Thank you." Sam drank the hot water gratefully. He paused to make a joke. "You happen to have any cocoa mix for this?"

"I'll check the pantry," he replied, deadpan.

Sam smiled, glad Bucky could still make a joke.

Bucky turned the meat on the hot rock. The smell of roasting rabbit made Sam's stomach grumble, reminding him he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

Taking another piece of slate to use as a plate and using two similar-sized twigs as chopsticks, Bucky picked off the organ meat and took it to Sam.

"Heart, liver, kidneys... You're spoiling me."

"It's high in iron," Bucky said. "You've lost a lot of blood."

"It's also high in calories, and if your metabolism's anything like Cap's, you must be starving."

"I'll be fine," Bucky said insistently.

Sam didn't have the energy to argue. He started with the liver, thinking it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

"Good thing you're not squeamish," Bucky said.

"Yeah, well, with the places I've been, I've eaten way weirder stuff than rabbit innards."

"I forgot. You were Special Forces before becoming an Avenger."

"Yeah. That was a long time ago. But I was thinking of all the local delicacies Nat dared us to eat when we were on the run. She got us all balut once. Steve and Wanda wouldn't touch it."

"Huh. I'm not surprised."

Bucky went out to get some more firewood before sitting down to eat.

"How visible is the fire from outside the cave?" Sam asked.

"Not very. It's a full moon tonight. It's bright enough that the light from the fire isn't noticeable."

"You know what's funny? In a lot of places, like India, China, and Japan, people see a rabbit in the dark splotches on the moon." Sam had thought of it because they were eating rabbit. It was something Nat had mentioned once.

"That's interesting," Bucky said. "In Chinese folklore, the matchmaker god is the Old Man of the Moon, and there's a god called the Rabbit God who's the matchmaker and protector for gay men."

Sam paused just as he was about to take a bit of the rabbit's heart. Why would Bucky bring that up? "That is interesting," he said neutrally. "Where did you learn that?"

"A speech by a Taiwanese politician I was sent to assassinate," he answered reluctantly.

"Why did you assassinate him?"

"HYDRA didn't tell me. They never told me." He picked at his food. "In the traditional hunting practices of the Ainu of northern Japan, the animal the hunter killed was believed to be a gift from that animal's _kamuy—_ spirit, or god—and the hunters had to show gratitude for that gift to ensure future hunts would be successful. I learned that during a lecture of an indiginous rights activist I assassinated in Mexico City."

"Man, that's terrible."

"Yes," Bucky agreed.

He sounded so dejected, Sam wanted to change the subject. "I guess that makes this dinner a gift from the Rabbit God. And maybe this cave too. And the full moon."

"Maybe." Bucky forced a smile at the joke.

Still trying to maintain a tone of levity, Sam said, "I know you're from a different time. How do you feel about gay people?"

"Fine. Ashamed, actually. Back in the day, I said some things I'm not proud of. Jokes, slurs. We didn't use the word 'gay' back then. 'Invert' was about the politest term. But things are different now. Science and social norms have advanced. But most of all..."

"What?"

He shrugged. "I'm a murderer. I don't have the right to judge anyone else, especially for something that doesn't hurt anyone."

"Well that's better than nothing. Just so you know, I'm gay."

He watched Bucky's reaction carefully. Bucky's regard for him right now could be a matter of life or death.

He showed only mild surprise. "I didn't know."

"I didn't think you did, but when you brought up the Rabbit God, I wondered. I thought Cap might've told you for some reason."

"Steve knows?"

"He knows, Wanda knows, Widow knows. That's the kind of thing that comes up in conversation when you're stuck with the same people for two years."

"I can see that." He really didn't seem to care. "I want to apologize for that, by the way. You were declared a criminal because of me. I'm sorry."

"Hey, I was declared a criminal because doing what's right is more important than doing what's legal. It's not on you."

Bucky shrugged. "Still..."

They finished eating in silence, then Bucky melted more snow and heated it, steeping spruce needles to make tea. After they drank it, he added some more dry boughs to the fire to give the cave more light. He knelt by Sam.

"Let me see your hand."

Sam held out his injured hand. Bucky slowly, carefully took off the bandaging, holding his hand still to make sure the cut didn't reopen.

"It's bad," Sam stated.

"When we get back, you may need reconstructive surgery. Right now we just have to make sure you don't bleed out and it doesn't get infected."

"Right."

Taking the last disinfectant wipe from Sam's emergency supplies, Bucky dabbed off the dried blood. He re-wrapped the bandage, using an unsoiled stretch for the part that would be in contact with the wound.

"How does that feel?" he asked.

"Fine. I mean, it hurts like hell, but it didn't reopen. The bandage is firm but not too tight. You're good at this."

Bucky smiled at the compliment. "I'm going to keep you alive, Sam. I promise."

Sam smiled back. "Thanks, but I'm not going to hold you to that. Not like I could, anyway."

Bucky actually laughed. "That's true. But I promise I'll try." He carefully set down Sam's injured hand. "I'm going to go make the bed."

Using Captain America's shield to dig a shallow depression in the cave floor, he spread glowing embers from the fire in the hole and covered them over with dirt. He helped Sam to the warm spot and lay down next to him, spreading the emergency blanket over both of them.

"You're going to sleep with me?" Sam asked jokingly.

"I'm not confident you have enough energy to keep your own internal body heat up," he replied. Then he added a joke. "Besides, I don't think you'll try anything, what with your hand. And I know I'm not exactly a great catch."

"Are you kidding? Steve says you were always a huge hit with the ladies."

"That was before I became the world's most notorious assassin."

"I think Widow would fight you for that title."

"She was a for-hire; I killed for HYDRA."

"You were brainwashed to kill for HYDRA. You weren't a murderer, you were a zombie."

"Can we stop talking about this and go to sleep?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. Sure."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Bucky woke with the first light of dawn brightening the cave. He could hear Sam breathing beside him. It was a reassuring sound.

He slipped out from under the blanket, careful not to wake him. He went to work building the fire back up. He'd have to gather more firewood soon, and look for more food.

Once the cave started to warm up, he prepared to venture out into the dawn. He checked on Sam again. He was still sleeping deeply. The firelight danced on his face.

Bucky paused.

Sam really was an exceptionally handsome man. He had noticed before, shortly after he woke up with his metal arm in a vice to find Steve and Sam guarding him, trying to decide what to do with him. Sam was a good man: devoted, brave, striving to do what he believed was right no matter who told him not to.

Bucky was going to keep him alive. That wasn't a promise, it was a resolution. He'd keep Sam alive or die trying.

The air outside the cave was a good fifteen degrees below zero Fahrenheit. He set out through the woods. Down the slope, he looked back at the cave. The mouth was glowing with the warm light of the fire. It looked welcoming and inviting against the early morning's blue gloom. He fervently hoped that warm glow wouldn't betray them.

He followed the frozen creek downstream, hoping he could find fish, or just the tracks of animals that might have come down looking for water.

The sky grew brighter, but the sun wasn't yet peeking over the canyon wall when he heard the low whirring of a spiderbot. He ducked under a stout spruce just as the bot came in sight, flying low.

He remained hidden, nothing moving but his breath. He didn't move his head to look, but heard the bot circle back and come in lower

The bots kept in communication with each other. If he destroyed this one, it would alert the network that he was there.

He heard the bot move behind a nearby tree. Calculated its speed and trajectory, and took the risk of leaving his hiding place to slide down the slope to the frozen stream. He walked along the ice, where he would leave no prints.

He heard the bot suddenly accelerate and change direction. It must have spotted the trail he'd left in the snow from the tree to the stream. He put on a burst of speed just as a line of bullet holes peppered the riverbank beside him.

He ran in a zigzag, making it more difficult for the bot to predict where to aim. Abruptly the ground stopped ahead of him: he found himself at the top of a waterfall with a small frozen lake below him.

The bot was still behind him.

If he destroyed it, they'd send more to look for him, and those bots might find Sam.

This bot would have no reason to believe Bucky wasn't alone; it would have no indication that Sam had survived.

Bucky dove off the frozen waterfall, his metal fist leading the way. It broke the ice, and he plunged into the frigid water. A trail of bullets followed him, but he made no attempt to dodge them, trusting the resistence of the water to slow them.

He'd been taught that long ago: when assassinating someone, don't shoot while they're under water. Wait for them to surface for breath and shoot them in the head.

Hopefully the bot wasn't programmed to know that.

He swam under the ice. The cold was excruciatingly painful, but he knew it wouldn't kill him.

Drowning could, though.

He swam past some small fish and jutting rocks, back toward the frozen waterfall. His lungs began to burn. There was, as he'd hoped, a dip in the cliff behind the waterfall, hollowed out by years of pounding spray. He found bare rock, got a firm grip with his feet, and punched upward. He had to punch the ice three times before it broke. He bobbed his head to the surface and took a gasp, then ducked back under.

There were no bullets.

He surfaced again. He was in a narrow air pocket between the wall of ice and the wall of rock. He stayed there, treading water even after he could no longer feel his limbs, until the air became thin. Then he broke his way out.

The bot was gone. It had given him up for dead.

* * *

Sam looked up at the sound of sloshy footsteps. Bucky walked in carrying two fish and a slab of ice studded with watercress. He was covered hair to boots in caked ice.

"What happened to you?"

"I came across a bot," Bucky answered. "I lost it in a lake."

"Damn. You look like hell. Sit down by the fire."

Bucky looked at the fire, and the pile of dried sticks next to it. "You've been out," he said disapprovingly.

"Hey, you left before I got up. I didn't know when you'd be back, and I don't want to freeze to death."

"How's the hand?"

"It's fine. I didn't gather anything I couldn't carry one-handed," Sam replied.

Bucky laid the fish on the slate above the fire to cook, then sat down with his back to the fire. "I want to take a look at your hand."

Sam held his hand out. Bucky took off the bandage, cradling Sam's hand in his metal hand and using the other to gently prod around the wound. The scabbing was extensive, but there wasn't the redness, swelling, or heat that would indicate infection.

"It looks...as good as can be expected," Bucky said. "How does it feel?"

Sam frowned at his hand. He tried to wiggle his fingers, producing stabs of pain but almost no movement. "It hurts like hell. But at least I can feel it."

"That's better than nothing." Bucky wrapped up the bandage again, but not as tightly. At this point, it was mostly just a reminder for Sam not to use his hand and risk reopening the wound.

When he was done, Bucky's metal hand cradled Sam's injured hand for an unnecessary second before he pulled it back. Sam glanced at Bucky's face in time to catch a troubled frown and troubled eyes before he turned away, leaving him to wonder if he'd imagined it.

"I'm going to get more firewood. Can you watch the fish?"

"Yeah," Sam answered as Bucky left the cave.

* * *

Bucky gathered enough firewood to last a couple of days, then he tore branches off some trees to weave into a door for the cave to provide some insulation and make sure the light of the fire wouldn't be visible from outside.

When that was done, he tried to think of something else he could do to keep him out of the cave.

He'd felt something when he held Sam's hand. Something he wasn't supposed to feel, toward anyone.

He was a killer. Hell, he'd tried to kill _Sam._ He didn't deserve...

He wouldn't even think about it. He was going to keep Sam alive, they were going to get out of this, that was all.

It had begun to snow by the time Bucky got back to the cave. He pulled the spruce-branch door into the cave mouth until it was wedged tight.

"Looking good," Sam said. "The fish is done if you want one."

Bucky turned and flashed him a smile. "Thanks."

Some of the watercress had melted free from the block of ice. Bucky sprinkled a few leaves on the fish for seasoning.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked Sam.

"Of course."

"You flew between me and a bullet. Why?"

Sam looked at him with surprise, like he'd forgotten—or expected Bucky to forget—the reason they were there, the incident that had lost Sam the use of his right hand, and nearly his life.

"Because that's what soldiers do," Sam stated. "They protect each other."

"You had to realize how risky that maneuver was."

"I didn't even think about it. The alternative was standing back and watching you die."

"After everything I've done, I'm surprised you didn't choose that option. Including everything I've done to you."

Sam looked at him for a moment with an expression he couldn't read. "I'm not going to pretend I don't get where you're coming from. I've seen so many cases like you. Hell, I've _been_ there. So many soldiers come back with something. They followed orders and killed people they think they didn't need to kill. They didn't follow orders and people died. They made a split-second judgment call that turned out wrong. They had to watch friends die and there was just nothing they could do. Everyone comes back with something."

"I murdered a lot of people."

"You were forced. You were brainwashed and used. You weren't the killer, just the gun that they aimed."

"That's not how it feels," Bucky said.

Sam stood up, walked over to him, and sat down in front of him. "I know that's not how it feels, but that's how it was. Forgiving yourself is a process. It will take years. But it's possible. A lot of people think it starts with making a decision, but that's not always how it works. What you say becomes what you think, and what you think enough becomes what you believe. I want you to try something: I want you to say, out loud, 'It's not my fault'."

"Just that? Just 'It's not my fault'?"

"That's right. I want to hear you saying it."

"I just did," Bucky said.

"No, you quoted me saying it. I want you to say it as you."

"Even if I say it, I don't think I'll ever believe it."

"You'll never know if you don't try. Say it."

"It's..." Bucky hesitated. The words felt unnatural, it felt downright ungrammatical. "It's not...my fault."

"Say it again."

"It's not my fault." It came more easily to his lips the second time, like he'd broken through a barrier preventing him from saying it. "It's not my fault."

"That's good," Sam said approvingly. "I want you to repeat that out loud to yourself every day."

"For how long?"

"The rest of your life."

"That sounds like a lot of commitment," Bucky joked.

Sam shrugged. "I do it. I lost my wingman on a mission. Riley. There was nothing I could've done to save him. I loved the guy like a brother, and I'll always miss him, but his death is not my fault, and I have to keep reminding myself of that."

"That's different."

"Everyone's baggage is a little different. That doesn't mean we can't give each other tips on how to carry it."

Bucky met his eyes and held them for a long moment. Something stirred inside him. He wasn't sure if he felt like crying or hugging him.

Before he could decide to do anything, Sam continued. "You're not the same person you were five years ago. No one is. Everyone changes. You can't expect to be the same person you are now five years from now. You might be someone who's forgiven himself, someone who found a way to live with his past. When you feel like you don't have anything else, hold onto that."

Bucky stared straight ahead. Sam didn't volunteer any more advice. They finished eating in silence.

"You should get out of those wet clothes," Sam suggested. "You can wear the blanket until they dry."

He was right, of course. Bucky had been hoping his clothes would dry on him, but there was no way they'd dry tonight if he didn't hang them up. He took the blanket, turned away from Sam, and started peeling off his clothes, hanging them over rocks near the fire.

He wondered if Sam might be sneaking a peek at his bare metal arm. His new arm, built for him by Shuri, was much more aesthetically designed than the stark, utilitarian arm HYDRA first fitted him with. He wondered if Sam would appreciate the difference. He also wondered—a whispered thought he couldn't keep out of his brain—if Sam was looking at his muscles, if he might find him attractive.

He discreetly glanced over his shoulder. Sam was facing away, not looking at him at all. Surprisingly, he found he was disappointed. But of course Sam wouldn't look at him like that. There was no reason Sam would be attracted to him.

He went to work easing off his wet pants, but he couldn't shake the thought of Sam looking at him. He was imagining it, imagining Sam watching him undress.

It was making him hard.

He wrapped the blanket around his waist and made his way to the fire, hoping Sam wouldn't be paying too close attention.

Sam came to sit by the fire. Neither of them talked for a minute. Then Sam said, "Maybe tomorrow I should be the one to go out hunting. I'm sure I could use a bath too."

Bucky laughed. A moment later an image rose unbidden to his mind: Sam in a bath, emerging from the water nude and dripping. It wasn't helping his comfort level.

"You smell fine to me," he said, and immediately wished he hadn't. "Besides, we can't risk your cut reopening. I'm sorry, but you're staying here."

"You got to at least let me out of the cave. I'm getting cabin fever."

"Well, I can't force you to stay," Bucky replied.

"I think you physically could. You could wrestle me to the ground and tie me up."

He wondered for a moment if Sam was doing this on purpose. Did he sound maybe a little bit flirtatious? That had to be his imagination.

"I wouldn't do that," he stated, smiling to assure Sam he knew he hadn't been serious.

Sam laughed.

Bucky loved how readily he laughed, how easily he smiled. It was even more impressive knowing what Sam had suffered in his life: watching his wingman die, being declared a criminal, imprisoned, and becoming an internationally wanted fugitive after the Sokovia Accords. To have so much in his past and still be able to smile so brightly.

"What are you staring at?" Sam asked teasingly.

Bucky hadn't realized he had been staring. "Do you mind if I ask you something kind of personal?"

"Go ahead."

"Why did you join the military?" It wasn't the question he'd intended to ask. He wasn't exactly sure what he had intended to ask, but this one felt safer. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't seem the type."

Sam shrugged. "I wanted to serve my country, wanted some excitement in my life. And maybe I felt like I had something to prove."

"Was it hard, where you grew up?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You mean was it hard being Black, being gay, or what?"

"I don't know. Just...what was your childhood like?"

"Pretty middle-of-the-road in just about every way. My folks weren't rich by any stretch, but they got by. I wasn't the most popular kid in school, but I had some good friends. Took car trips every summer to visit relatives. I didn't think it was all that great when I was in it—I thought my folks were too strict, my chores were too time-consuming, and my classes were too boring—but looking back, it was pretty good. What was your childhood like?"

"I grew up in the Great Depression. We were dirt poor, just like pretty much everyone we knew. Steve was my best friend since as far back as I can remember. He was kind of my sidekick throughout grade school."

"Your sidekick?" Sam asked in amusement.

"Not quite a sidekick. More like a pet project, maybe. He was always the scrawny kid bullies picked on. Protecting him made me feel...heroic, I guess. Standing up for the little guy. It gave me an excuse to get in fights and feel like I was in the right."

"You liked fighting?"

Bucky shrugged. "I think I figured it impressed girls."

Sam chuckled. "That was something I never had to worry about."

"What, you never did anything dumb to impress the boys?"

"Didn't have to. My first boyfriend was the only other out boy at my high school. We thought we were made for each other. As soon as we graduated and got out into the real world we realized we only dated each other because we didn't realize how many options were out there. We really had almost nothing in common."

"Wasn't your type?"

"Not really. What about you?" he asked so quickly it sounded like he was deliberately changing the subject. "Cap says you always had at least one girlfriend. Who was your first?"

"I don't remember."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? I knew your memory was shaky, but not even remembering your first love...that's rough."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. He could remember some girlfriends: a kaleidoscope of names and faces he couldn't quite connect. He remembered Steve teasing him that he loved women so much that any pretty girl would do. And there was some truth to that; he couldn't think of any specific girl he'd been in love with for her own sake. It had never occured to him until now to wonder why that was.

"Maybe..." Sam said, but whatever he was going to say, he dropped it with a shrug.

"Yeah. Maybe," Bucky said. Whatever Sam had been thinking, the answer was maybe.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sam woke up with a throbbing pain in his hand but a pleasant warmth against his back.

This was the first time he'd woken up before Bucky; he didn't know if he was a light sleeper, and didn't think startling the former Winter Soldier by waking him unexpectedly would be a good idea. And so for a few minutes he just lay there, enjoying the warmth of Bucky's supersoldier body.

Bucky shifted, turning in his sleep. His metal arm slid across Sam's stomach. Sam decided not to push it off. It wasn't uncomfortable. The contours of the vibranium were unexpectedly warm and smooth.

His thoughts turned from Bucky's arm to the man himself. True, they hadn't gotten along at first, even after Bucky stopped actively trying to kill him and Cap. There had just been something about him that rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was jealousy; Bucky had been Steve's best friend from the beginning, even before he became Captain America, and that was something Sam could never compete with. But whatever it had been, it was gone now. He'd saved Bucky's life because it was the right thing to do, because soldiers protected each other, but Bucky had repayed him by digging him out of the avalanch and staying with him to treat his wounds. He could have gone back for Steve and T'Challa, or left to get help, either of which would have been rational choices, even if they would have resulted in Sam's certain death.

He couldn't help but feel gratitude and admiration for him.

Bucky stirred. Sam watched his eyes blink open. At first, those eyes seemed to hold a kind of morning contentment, like for a moment after waking Bucky didn't remember the danger they were in, or the guilt of his past. Then that contentment was replaced by confusion, then contrition. He rose and drew away from Sam, taking the blanket to cover his bare chest.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to invade your space."

"Dude, it's fine. You were asleep. Besides, you were keeping me warm."

Bucky chuckled dryly. "Okay."

He got up and went to work coaxing the fire back to life. Most of his clothes were still hanging up to dry; all he had on was his underwear and the blanket, which he'd wrapped around his waist like a towel. Sam couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed as he broke dry braches to lay across the fire. The man was built.

God. That wasn't just gratitude and admiration he was feeling.

Bucky turned toward him unexpectedly, and froze. He'd caught Sam looking at him. Had he seen something in the expression on his face?

"You're good at that. At...stoking fires," Sam said, mentally kicking himself for that pathetic excuse for an excuse being all he could come up with.

"Thanks."

Bucky pulled down his clothes, ran his hands over them to test how damp they were, then started dressing. Sam distracted himself by examining his injured hand. The gash had scabbed over completely. It wasn't infected, but he couldn't move his fingers more than the slightest flex at the tip. His hand might never be the same again. But he was trying not to worry about that.

He briefly contemplated what would have happened if it had become infected. Bucky might have amputated his hand. Maybe amputated his whole arm. He wondered if Shuri would have made him a bionic arm so he and Bucky could match.

If they managed to rescue Shuri.

Was she still alive? Was T'Challa still alive? Was Cap? He'd been trying not to think about it. Cap could take care of himself, and anyway Sam was in no condition to help him.

But Bucky was.

"I'm out of the woods now. I can keep myself alive for a while. You should go back and find out what happened to Cap and the Panther."

Bucky turned and stared at him hard. "You can't hunt. You might be able to gather enough firewood to keep the cave warm, but if you don't eat enough calories to keep your energy up, you'll die."

"You won't be gone long enough for that to happen. You'd be gone for a day at most."

"Unless I got killed in the attempt," he said bluntly.

"I don't think there's a huge risk of that. I've seen you in action."

"I'm not invincible." He looked down. "I do want to go back for them, but if those bots could take down Steve and T'Challa working together, I don't have much of a chance against them alone. And if I die, you die."

"Probably," Sam agreed. "The thing is, for Steve, I think it's worth the risk."

Bucky sighed and looked away. "Let's see how much food I can get today. If it's enough to sustain you for a couple of days, I'll think about it."

Sam nodded. "That's fair."

* * *

Last night's fresh snow meant any tracks Bucky found would be fresh. It also meant any tracks he left could potentially signal any bots on patrol that he was still alive, and lead them back to Sam. But that was a risk they had to take.

Unlike him going back for Steve and T'Challa.

The more he thought about it, the more torn he felt. Part of him felt he had to go back, face the spiderbots alone, and at least find out what happened to his two closest friends. If it were just his life he'd have to stake, he'd do it in a second. If Steve and T'Challa were still alive, his life would be a small price to pay for the slightest chance to save them.

But Sam's life was valuable too, and Bucky actually had a realistic chance of saving it.

Sam trusted he could find Steve and T'Challa and come back alive. Sam had more faith in him than he had in himself.

To avoid leaving tracks, Bucky walked along the frozen river again. He explored beyond the lake, wondering if he could possibly find a road or a village or any other outpost of civilization where he could leave Sam in safety while he went back to the spiderbots' base. It was not looking promising.

He followed the river through a narrow canyon. It opened into a small valley with some unusual rock formations along the riverbank. When he got closer, he saw they were the remains of stone walls. People had once lived here, though it had obviously been abandoned decades if not centuries ago.

Inside some of the ruined walls he found an overgrown orchard. Partially sheltered from the wind, there were still apples on some of the trees. They were withered and had been nibbled on by birds and insects, but they were food. He gathered them.

Then, to his surprise, he found one peach tree with a few frozen peaches. The tree must have fruited late, and winter had come so suddenly here in the mountains that the freeze had caught both late peaches and early apples.

He picked the peaches and headed back.

* * *

Sam was out of the cave looking for dry branches on the underside of evergreen trees, injured hand curled against his stomach, when he saw Bucky approaching up the hillside. The sight of Bucky seemed to erase an apprehension he hadn't been consciously aware he had. He wasn't sure if he was relieved that Bucky was back because he'd been worried about him or worried about being alone. Either way, he was happy to see him, and he was suddenly struck by the distance between how he felt now and the fight-or-flight tension he used to feel every time he saw him.

"How goes the hunt?" he aked jokingly when Bucky was within earshot.

Bucky smiled at him. "You may not like what I found for dinner, but you should see what I've got for dessert."

Dinner was termites from a fallen tree he'd broken open. They actually smelled appetizing as they sizzled on the hot rock over the fire.

"So no bot sightings today?" Sam asked.

Bucky had told him about his trek down the stream where he'd found the ruins of a village.

"No. No bots. I must have missed their patrol windows."

"Lucky," Sam said.

"Yeah."

They ate their supper in a somewhat tense silence, neither wanting to bring up the question of Bucky going back to the spiderbot base, even though it was what they were both thinking about. Sam knew he was asking Bucky to risk his life. He was reluctant to push the matter, because as much as he wanted Steve back alive, he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself if Bucky died trying.

After finishing his share of the roasted termites, Bucky poked at one of the apples he'd brought back. They were still frozen, but they would thaw by tomorrow, and there were enough to feed one person for a few days. He could risk leaving Sam.

He picked up one of the peaches and took a bite. It was still partially frozen, but it was soft enough to eat.

"How is it?" Sam asked.

"It's good. Here." He tossed one to him.

Sam bit into it. It was surprisingly sweet, with a strong flavor. The ice in it had crystalized as it froze, giving it a crunchy texture. It tasted like candy.

"Mmm. This is the best peach I've ever tasted."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "Really? The best you've ever tasted."

"Here. Try it."

He held the peach out to Bucky, who looked at it dubiously.

"If it's really the best peach you've ever tasted, you should eat it all."

Sam considered that argument. It was tempting, but he wanted to share the experience with Bucky. He wanted him to feel what he felt. "Since we wouldn't have food at all if it weren't for you, you should have at least a bite of it."

He looked unconvinced.

"Come on, Buck. You deserve a bite. You deserve good things in your life."

Bucky took it and nibbled at it. Sam had expected him to take a bite from the untouched side of the peach, but he took his bite from the same spot Sam had taken his, unconcerned about contamination from his germs. It was strangely intimate, a vicarious kiss, and Sam's breath caught in his throat at the thought of it, at the thought of Bucky's lips being where his lips had been, his teeth, his tongue...

"You're right; that really is the best peach I've ever tasted." He handed it back to Sam.

He took another bite, exactly where Bucky had bitten it, and passed it back to him.

Bucky closed his eyes as he took another, larger bite.

They passed it back and forth until it was gone. Then, without comment, Bucky divided the few remaining peaches between them. He kept his eyes averted. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd swear the supersoldier was suddenly acting shy.

He didn't say anything either. He was busy replaying what happened with the peach in his head, telling himself he was reading too much into it.

It was several more minutes before Bucky broke the silence. "I'm going back up the mountain tonight."

Sam stared at him, surprised by how jarring that statement was. This was what he'd wanted—he was the one who'd encouraged Bucky to do it in the first place—but the thought terrified him.

Because he didn't want anything to happen to Bucky.

Steve and T'Challa might well already be dead. Bucky was alive. Bucky was alive, and unique, complex, funny, caring, and worth saving.

"Only recon, right?" Sam said.

"Of course."

The way he said that made it sound, not so much that he was lying, but that he was unconvinced he would stick to the plan.

"Don't do anything stupid. Come back alive."

After a moment, Bucky nodded. "I'll try."

"Take Cap's shield."

"You might need it."

"I won't. Not much good it would do me one-handed, anyway."

Bucky was looking at him again, staring at him hard. "If you want me to stay, I will."

"No. Go. I'll be fine," he said quickly, before he could give himself a chance to wonder if it was true.

Bucky picked up the shield, then walked back up to Sam. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something else, his eyes lowered and mouth slightly open. Then instead he stepped forward quickly and planted a lightning-quick, feather-light kiss on Sam's lips. Then he left without a word.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The moon was just rising, but it came and went with shifting clouds.

Bucky went over it again and again in his mind as he made his way up the mountainside. He didn't know what had come over him. Kissing Sam had been an impulse, one that had felt beyond his control—though through the haziness of hindsight, he didn't know if he'd been unable to stop himself or just hadn't tried. He was sure it wouldn't have even crossed his mind if he'd believed there was any real chance he'd make it back alive.

If he did make it back alive, he had no idea what he was going to say to Sam. Maybe they would both pretend it never happened.

As he neared the spiderbots' base, Bucky moved more slowly, finding new cover every few minutes and listening for the faint _whirr_ of flying patrols.

There were none.

With a gun in one hand and Captain America's shield in the other, he stepped over the ridge that would put him in direct line of sight to the base.

There were no robot guards.

Suddenly it seemed suspicious that he hadn't seen any bots all day. Had they abandoned their base? If they had, any sliver of hope for rescuing Steve and T'Challa was gone. But it meant he would be making it back to Sam after all.

He slowly moved toward the large metal door built into the rock of the mountainside. Putting away his gun, he punched his metal fist into the crack between the doors and forced it open.

Inside, floodlights revealed a stone floor strewn with disassembled bots, and half a dozen unexpected faces turned toward him. There was Iron Man, Black Widow, Bruce Banner, Scarlet Witch, Okoye, Nakia...

And there—alive, unfettered, relatively unharmed—T'Challa and Steve.

They stared at him like they were seeing a ghost. Probably the same expression on his face.

Steve recovered from his shock first and sprinted to him, enfolding him in an embrace. "Bucky! You're alive!"

"Yeah. When I came back to look for you after the fight, you were gone. I thought the bots got you. What happened? How did you get out?"

T'Challa came up to him. They greeted each other with a Wakandan salute. "We were captured. They kept us sedated. But when I failed to check in, General Okoye called in Nakia and some of our Avenger friends to launch a search. As you can see, they were able to neutralize the robots and free us, as well as the kidnapped scientists."

He nodded toward Princess Shuri, who had emerged from a side room. She ran toward them.

"Bucky!"

"Shuri!" He caught her in a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"You too, my sweet little guinea pig. My brother was so worried about you."

Bucky laughed with relief.

"They freed us early this morning," Steve said. "As soon as I could, I went out to search for you and Sam. I didn't find any trace of you. I feared the worst. Do you know what happened to Sam?"

"He's fine. He was injured in the fight, but it's not critical. We were hiding out in a cave down the mountain. I came back to try to find out what happened to you. I would have come sooner, but...I couldn't risk leaving Sam until I was sure he was out of the woods."

"Thanks. That was the right call," Steve said. He looked so relieved to know Sam was alive.

Bucky looked at Shuri. "He's going to need medical attention. His right hand was almost severed."

She nodded. "I'll need to take him back to Wakanda."

Bucky nodded. He looked around, and it finally sunk in that his friends were safe. And that they were his friends. Steve, who had stood by him and fought to protect him even after he'd tried to kill him, had stood up for him against the entire world. T'Challa, who had given him safe harbor in his country, working through the hatred he'd felt when he thought Bucky had murdered his father. Shuri, who had used her genius to free Bucky of his decades of psychological programming.

They were his friends. And if they thought he deserved friendship, forgiveness, happiness...maybe he did.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Final chapter! It's going to get M. For everyone who's made it this far, I hope you enjoyed the story!

Chapter 8

Sam walked slowly toward the isolated cottage where he was told he could find Bucky.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun beamed through a hazy film of mist onto the lake.

How would Bucky feel about this unexpected visit? They hadn't seen each other since arriving in Wakanda. They hadn't really talked on the jet on the way, either, other than a few pleasantries and a couple of jokes.

They hadn't really had a chance to talk since the kiss.

Bucky spotted him through the open door as he approached the cottage. He stood and met him at the doorway.

"Morning, Sam," he greeted him.

"Good morning Bucky."

A second or two of silence passed awkwardly before Bucky asked, "How are you doing? How's the hand?"

Sam looked down at his right hand with a smile. He closed and opened his fist, testing it, as he'd done periodically since the surgery. "It's great. Like nothing happened."

"Shuri does good work," Bucky said shyly.

Sam looked at him. "Yeah she does."

Bucky looked down, biting his lip. He seemed to be searching for the right thing to say, but came up with nothing.

"Look," Sam said, "I saved your life and you saved my life, you took care of me, and we were stuck with each other for days. That kind of thing makes a bond. I'm your friend for life. Whatever else happened...we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"It's not that I don't..." He sighed. "The truth is, I've never felt about anyone the way I'm feeling about you, and I don't know what that means."

Sam didn't know either. Bucky might have discovered something new about himself, something he'd never dared face before, or he might be mistaking feelings of gratitude and newly forged friendship plus a dash of adrenaline for falling in love. He liked Bucky. A lot. But he didn't want to push him into something he wasn't sure about, or wasn't ready for.

He also didn't want to risk losing this by dismissing Bucky's feelings if it could be something real.

"If you want," he said carefully, "we could give ourselves some space, put some distance between us until we figure it out."

"Is that what you want?" Bucky asked, sounding slightly hurt but trying to hide it.

"No," Sam admitted. "But what I want isn't all that matters here."

Bucky dropped his eyes again, lost in thought. "Sam, do you really believe I can...redeem myself for the things I've done?"

"I think anyone can find redemption. But you don't need it. Because you're innocent."

Bucky's eyes rose to his. He stared at him, weighing his words.

"Would you like to come in?" he finally asked.

"Do you want me to?" Sam asked back.

"Yes."

Sam entered the sparsely furnished but comfortable cottage.

"I know it's not much, but it's better than a cave."

"Though you got to admit, that was a pretty nice cave," Sam said.

Bucky shrugged. "I've definitely slept in worse."

Sam chuckled.

Bucky shifted from one foot to another, radiating nervousness. "Hey, can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"No thanks." Sam caught his hand—his metal hand. He held it in his, and trailed one finger over Bucky's palm and up and down his fingers. "I've been wondering, how much sensation do you have in this thing?"

"It...I mean, it doesn't feel like skin, it doesn't feel pain or temperature, but I can tell when it's touching something. Or when something's touching it. My new one is...a lot more...sensitive than the old one was."

"And a lot better looking," Sam said. He ran his finger up Bucky's metal wrist, watching his response.

Bucky's breathing quickened, his lips parted. He quivered.

Sam stepped forward, took Bucky's other hand, and slowly pressed his lips to his. He ended the kiss, but didn't step back. He was close enough to feel heat radiating from Bucky's body, and his own body was reacting, feeling an almost magnetic draw to close the distance between them.

"How was that?" he asked.

"That was...that was good," Bucky breathed.

"Good. I know this is new for you, so we can take this at whatever pace you want. If—" He was cut off by Bucky's lips latching over his.

This kiss lasted longer, went deeper as Bucky's lips and tongue moved hungrily. Sam's hands let go of Bucky's and slid around his back to pull him closer.

They kissed for several minutes, then Bucky drew back. His fingers slid their way to the top button of Sam's shirt. "May I?"

Sam swallowed, and nodded.

Bucky unbuttoned his shirt slowly, eyes taking in each new inch of Sam's chest his actions revealed. He slid Sam's shirt off his shoulders and draped it over a chair, then stood staring at Sam.

"My turn." Sam lifted Bucky's shirt off, and dropped it over the chair on top of his.

Bucky slowly lifted his right hand and ran it down Sam"s chest and abs. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do," he admitted.

"If it feels good, you're doing it right."

Bucky moved forward, pulling Sam against him by his beltloops, and buried his lips in his neck.

Sam moaned. He leaned into Bucky, felt his arousal against his own.

Bucky's lips found their way to Sam's again. His hands ran down Sam's back.

Sam's fingers slid beneath Bucky's waistband. He his fingertips slid around his hips, his abs. He trailed his fingers along his zipper, then slowly pulled it down.

Bucky shivered as Sam's fingers began exploring inside his pants. At first, they just lightly brushed against his erection, then he increased the contact, curling his fingers around his shaft, feeling him throb and harden in response.

"Oh, God... Sam..."

"More?"

"Please."

He grasped his shaft firmly and stroked it while kissing him hard.

Bucky felt he was close, seconds away from coming, when he grabbed Sam's hands and drew back.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled quickly.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Bucky assured him between breaths. "I just want to see you." His eyes traveled down and back up his body. "I want to see...all of you."

Sam smiled, and stripped off his pants.

Bucky couldn't help but stare. Every detail of Sam's body was glorious, as if chiseled from marble.

"You're making me self-conscious," Sam joked.

"Don't be. You're amazing." Bucky kissed Sam again, letting their bodies drift together. He'd been worried it would feel awkward, since he'd never been with a man before, but it didn't. It felt natural. It felt right.

He swept Sam up into his arms and laid him in his bed. He followed him down, kneeling between his legs and propping himself up with his elbows behind Sam's shoulders.

Sam wrapped his legs around Bucky's hips, pulling him closer. He rolled over, pinning Bucky beneath him. Their bodies molded against each other: lips to lips, chest to chest, cock to cock.

Bucky felt almost dizzy, conscious thought lost in a haze of bliss.

He'd lost track of time, but was sure it had been several minutes when Sam's lips pulled away from his. He kissed his way across Bucky's cheek, down his neck, across his shoulder, across his chest. He bit his nipple, then licked it and sucked it hard. Bucky moaned at the unexpected pleasure of the sensation.

Sam's mouth resumed its wandering, dragging his lips and tongue in a circuitous but generally downward path over his ribs, his abs.

He paused, watching Bucky's response. Bucky's eyes were closed tight, his lips slightly parted, his breathing heavy.

And then Bucky felt Sam's lips slide over his tip, his tongue slide down the underside of his shaft. He stayed there for a minute, rolling the tip between his lips and tongue. Then he started to suck, pulling Bucky's cock deeper into his mouth.

Bucky gasped at the sensation. His fingers stroked the back of Sam's head.

In this moment, nothing else mattered but Sam. The years of being under HYDRA's control, the assassinations... In this moment, he felt absolved. Because Sam believed he was innocent. Sam believed he was worthy.

He came with a gasp, going rigid for a moment before melting into his bed.

Sam kissed his way up Bucky's torso, then rested his head on his chest.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"That was...amazing," Bucky said.

"Thanks."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Oh, you already do it for me." Sam trailed his fingertips lightly over Bucky's abs.

A minute later, Bucky quietly asked, "What happens next?"

"What do you want to happen?"

Bucky had been pondering that question. Did he want to ask Sam to stay in Wakanda, so he could be close to him? Did he want to stay in Wakanda, now that he was cured of HYDRA's conditioning?

"I don't know," he said.

"You're not an internationally wanted fugitive anymore," Sam said. "You could move back to the States, join the Avengers."

"I doubt I would be welcome by everyone."

"Not saying it would be easy, but after everything that's happened, I think Tony would come around."

Bucky stared at his ceiling. "Maybe. Or maybe you could take some time off, stay here for a while. With you, me, T'Challa, and Okoye, we could form a team based out of Wakanda."

"That could be fun," Sam agreed. "Or once you and I could take a vacation, just the two of us, see what this turns into."

Bucky smiled. Sam seemed to always know exactly the right thing to say.

"Sounds like a plan."


End file.
